Feelings
by Charlieboyyy
Summary: A very short story about the mind of a insane, cunning, ruthless, powerful, and lost death knight who is both confused and hurt...in his head. A story about a young man's sanity... or lack of it.


My first warcraft fic…R+R!

To die was to live. To suffer was to succeed. Everything felt so out of place… reality had such a twist of irony. As the lone warrior stood before the vast ice lands of Northrend, he pondered about what HIS life had gotten him. He was warrior; a fighter for his once proud nation of the Human Alliance. He was a holy man, trained under the ancient yet famous order of the once-renounced Paladins of the Silver Hand. He was a prince of a mighty kingdom that had a history for fighting off danger and fending its' homeland from all intruders of all kinds, whether it be trolls, bandits, or orcs. Never before had the kingdom of Lordaeron failed its' duty to it's people: to protect and safeguard all of Azeroth. This was Arthas' heritage.

And yet, it was he who tore down the legacy of Lordaeron. It was he who ruthlessly murdered his own father, the king, and razed the mighty kingdom that once stood so tall and might. It was he who nearly cleansed the planet of the human race and destroyed all but fragments of the High Elves. He did all those…and felt no sympathy. Even when he took his mighty sword, Frostmourne, and slid it down his own father's throat; even when he swiftly yet mercilessly delivered the mortal wound upon Uther Lightbringer, his mentor and closest friend. He felt no compassion; no pity. Perhaps his heart really was made of ice…like the environment around him.

A blizzard was coming; Arthas could feel it. The snowing was speeding up as the clouds darkened. The death knights pushed back some of his hair and gripped the handle of Frostmourne. He closed his eyes as the cold hit him. Under his heavy and warm armor, Arthas was well protected from the cold although his face was vulnerable. But that did not matter; feelings were long gone from Arthas. Pain had become his ally.

Many people accused him of being insane; in fact, he had heard the rumors amongst his ranks that he, King Arthas, was unfit to command due to his questionable mental state. Arthas frowned at the thought. To make it worse, his enemies have already ridiculed him as, " The Mad Prince." However, Arthas was not insane; in fact, he was thinking very clearly, more clearly than he was in his younger days. The King of Lordaeron proved over and over again he was one of the most cunning military commanders Azeroth had seen; he also proved to be a brilliant swordsman, skills, along with his power from the Lich King and Frostmourne, that proved to be unmatched. Why was his mental state questioned then, with all of his accomplishments? Insanity was not his problem…no, it was not. He was fine. He was not insane, Arthas confirmed.

The blizzard was getting worse. The death knight's vision was getting blurry due to the rapid winds and snow. He checked over his shoulders to see if anyone was around. He wiped out the snow from his eyes. He remembered when he killed Illidan. Illidan was a worthy opponent in terms of cunning and wit. However, despite the common belief, the demon hunter was a poor fighter. He was reckless with his attacks; much more so than the death knight thought he would be. And power seemed to be the only tool Illidan used during a fight. Power and strength was essential in a fight but so was the wit of a mind, which, ironically, Illidan did not possess in the battlefield. But, outside the war zone, Arthas had respect for Illidan's cunningness and audacity; how many people would dare seek out the ancient necromantic powers of the Eye of Sageras? But the only thing, Arthas thought with a snicker, that proved to be folly of Illidan was to confront Arthas one on one at the base of Icecrown. Both of them knew who was the better fighter and yet he still challenged the undefeated death knight. It was a pity he had to die so fast.

Arthas shifted his weight. The King of the Undead frowned; he couldn't remember much after the fight. He recalled he climbed up the long and treacherous stairs of Icecrown to see his master, Ner'zhul, and check if he was ok from the attacks. And, when he got there, he remembered hearing whispers in his head, ordering him to do something involving the Lich King…

Pain struck all through his head. Arthas grimaced in pain as his head felt like it was about to explode. A buzz of some sort rang throughout his head, as if, the mere thought of recalling memories was being blocked…

He smiled. Pain was his ally. His smile turned into a grin. Pain was his friend. What was he thinking again? Something about a memory… Arthas thought hard but nothing popped into his head. He shrugged and brushed it out of his mind.

Who was he? For a moment, the death knight couldn't recall who he was… he was Arthas, lord of undead and king of Lordaeron. Jaina Proudmoore…the thought of her tormented the young man. She broke his heart long ago and still, he has not forgiven her. He still loved her, if that were possible for a cold-hearted murder. He was always in love with her. He could never stop thinking about her; the damn sorcerer was in his mind every time, everyday. Even when he was killing someone, stabbing a night elf in the stomach and watching her bleed as her organs spilled out of her, he thought of her. Even when he brought down his sword on to the heart of a orcish grunt and ripped out the heart, he thought of her. He thought of her even more so when he fought against humans…

Arthas felt sad. Grief over-whelmed him. And along with grief came panic. Who was he? What was he doing? Floods of memories swept him; the moment when he killed Uther, his father, his people. Moments of destroying the High Elves and raping the wizards of Dalaran filled him. Good lord, what had he become?

Arthas' face was filled with horror and disgust. He was a monster, a murder! What happened to him? He quickly picked up Frostmourne and threw it to the ground. He had to stop, he had to get away, away from everything---

Pain filled him once more. Arthas fell to his knees; the snow was still coming. He grabbed his head as the pain shot through his body. The snow was cold. Very cold. He could feel it. After moments passed, Arthas regained his posture. The death knight picked up his sword and put it away in his sheath.

Snow… he couldn't feel it. feelings were long gone from Arthas. Pain had become his ally.


End file.
